


It belonged to my daughter

by Awkwardsauce



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkwardsauce/pseuds/Awkwardsauce
Summary: Snap-shot format story from Rost's POV about raising Aloy and some "hidden scenes" we didn't get from the game. Provides a look into the father/daughter relationship between the two.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> ***Spoiler alert for the game Horizon Zero Dawn, proceed with caution if you haven't finished it* This is a multi-chaptered story from Rost's point of view, exploring his relationship with Aloy. He was denied the chance to raise his own daughter and his journey as a Death Seeker deserves its own DLC in my opinion, but alas those dreams will never happen. So here is my take on some "snapshots" of life raising Aloy, with some flashbacks to Rost's family thrown in. Only one warning, there is a chapter about puberty, but that's as "mature-themed" as this will ever be. We begin before the opening cutscene.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018 Completed

When the High Matriarchs sent a messenger to his isolated cabin, he had hoped to never set foot in Mother’s Watch again after his return to the Sacred Lands. The message had been short and cryptic, addressed only from High Matriarch Teersa. 

Ever loyal to the tribe’s tradition, he followed the messenger, stopping briefly at the altar along the road to the village to ask for All-Mother’s blessing and forgiveness. He left an offering before following the patient messenger and entering the foreboding gates to Mother’s Watch.

The messenger was careful not to speak to Rost as he led the outcast to the sacred mountain, and Rost examined the younger man as he followed him up the well-worn path towards the mountain. He was tall and lanky, wearing a boarskin cloak over his shoulders. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, the light blonde dreadlocks secured with a bit of blue rope. Rost guessed the man to be in his twenty-eighth year by the sureness of his steps and fullness of his beard. 

The cold winds of winter were finally subsiding as spring took hold in the Sacred Lands, but the villagers lining the streets stopped to give him an icy stare as he passed. Outcast they sneered, some spitting near his feet. He paid them no mind, knowing his trespassing into their streets would be brief before he was allowed to return to his isolation. 

One of the braves they passed as they ascended toward the sacred mountain recognized Rost and placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head in silence. The Brave met the outcast’s eyes before quickly moving on past the pair towards the gates. Rost swallowed thickly, his shunning was still fresh in his mind, and some of the tribe still disagreed with the outcome of his trial. 

Many did not know the exact circumstances of his ‘exile’ and subsequent return to All-Mother’s Embrace, and he had vowed to never speak of it after the Matriarchs allowed him to remain in the Sacred Land as an Outcast. 

 

**_Blood._ **

**_The trampled snow stained red as black smoke filled the chilly air._ **

**_The screams and sounds of fighting overcoming any reason in the moment._ **

**_Then there in the snow...his mate...her hair strewn about her head, dark crimson blood seeping from the wound in her chest-_ **

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. 

The messenger had stopped, noticing the lack of footsteps behind him. The younger man broke tradition by touching an outcast, but in his eyes Rost recognized pity. Some still remembered the attack on Mother’s Vigil, as it had only occurred a few years back, but even fewer knew of his journey from the Sacred Lands to the world beyond. 

He nodded thankfully at the messenger and the two men continued their ascent up the path to the sacred mountain. The path cleared for them as the villagers moved out of their way.

The familiar metal, triangular door with its distinctly Nora overhang greeted them as they finished their journey. A small crowd had gathered, and Rost’s heart rate increased, wondering what the High Matriarchs had summoned him for exactly. The three elderly women stood near the doorway, awaiting his arrival. High Matriarch Teersa, with her blue and tan garb and long braided greying hair, stood in the center, her hands clasped together in front of herself. 

The crowd parted, and hushed whispers spread throughout as he passed, the messenger leaving Rost to answer the Matriarch’s call and taking his place among the village crowd. Harsh whispers permeated the air around the clearing. 

_What’s he doing here?_

_Outcast!_

_What do the Matriarch’s want with him?_

High Matriarch Teersa raised her right hand, silencing the crowd as all eyes turned to Rost, who stepped to the front, kneeling before the three women. 

“You may speak to us, as we have summoned you for a task of great importance,” she said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. 

Rost heard a scoff from Lansra’s direction. 

He stood as beckoned, and Teersa motioned for him to follow her to the vestibule of the Sacred Mountain. Jezza and Lansra remained outside while Teersa entered into the mountain.

The crowd started to stir as they waited for the High Matriarch to return, and many of the villagers whispered among themselves. Rost shifted uncomfortably where he stood, feeling the many eyes on his back.

Teersa reemerged within moments, carrying a small bundle of furs and skins in her arms. Rost furrowed his brow, confusion spread over his face. The older woman stepped up to him, revealing what she carried...

A newborn baby.

Jezza spoke up finally, turning in his direction, “We found her inside of the mountain, laying alone outside of All-Mother’s womb.”

Teersa handed the infant to Rost, who inhaled in surprise softly at the weight. 

_They were giving her to him??? What had he done to deserve such an honor?_

He found his voice as the slowly waking infant blinked up at him, speaking just above a whisper to avoid startling the child, “The mother?”

Lansra hissed suddenly, “There is none! This child is an abomination- no mother- a curse for our tribe’s misdeeds! Our straying from All-Mother’s ways has brought this-!” 

Jezza shook her head vehemently, cutting in quickly, “Sister, that is not for us to decide-”

The crowd had overheard the conversation between the four and shouts erupted throughout the Nora, relaying judgement where they had no right to do so...

__Cast her out!_ _

__No-Mother!_ _

__Send them away!_ _

Teersa strode forward, raising her hands to silence the agitated villagers, “Listen to me! We do not know the reason why this child appeared as she did…but All-Mother has delivered her to us, and we must decide her fate-“

__Outcast!_ _

Rost furrowed his brow, what had this child done to deserve such hatred from the tribe? She was only an infant!

Lansra echoed the angry crowd’s sentiment. 

Rost looked between the three High Matriarchs. Jezza averted her eyes, clearly concerned with the tribe’s reception of the event. The three elderly women convened and after some heated arguing near the entrance to the sacred mountain, Teersa approached Rost, who held the infant girl closer to his chest, unconsciously protecting her from the venom the tribe spat their way. 

The lines in the elderly woman’s face deepened in the midday shadows as she relayed her judgement. 

“Please forgive us, but we must ask you to take this girl as your own,” she said quietly, before retrieving a bowl from Lansra’s outstretched hands. Rost glanced at the other matriarchs and the hatred he saw in Lansra’s face confused him. How could she hate an infant girl? One who had done nothing to her?

“By the will of All-Mother we mark both of you as Outcasts, and bind this girl to you. Bring her up in our ways, but remember our laws: she must not return to us until she is of age.”

Teersa’s eyes watered as she spoke these words, but Rost understood the law and what must be done. The matriarch marked his forehead as they had before with the sign of an outcast, and gently did the same to the infant girl in his arms. The baby squirmed away from the foreign sensation, scrunching her eyebrows together and making a small sound of displeasure. 

Rost felt as if a hand had reached its way into chest and taken hold of his heart. He was getting another chance at what he’d been so cruelly denied when he’d lost his family. He looked down at the baby girl in his arms and the muscles in his jaw tightened; one way or another they’d get through this.

They were in this together now. 

The crowd parted and Rost stepped forward, holding his new ‘daughter’ close to his chest to protect her from the tribe that had shunned her.

Some spat as his feet as he passed, while others only glared vehemently.

Rost chanced a look around and recognized the face of the Brave who had broken taboo to return him to the Sacred Lands. Being a mother herself, she stared at the infant in Rost’s arms, the pain on her face as bare as any cliff-face. 

Rost continued the long walk back down the path to the gates. No one dared to touch them, and two braves followed behind to ensure the Outcasts left Mother’s Watch unharmed.

As the large wooden gates slowly closed behind them, Rost looked back towards the village he would never see again. The many familiar faces who might as well have been strangers flashed through his mind. He shook them away; it was no use dwelling on what was past. 

The journey back to his cabin was slower now that he carried precious cargo. The infant fought against the bundled furs she was being carried in, and Rost stopped to adjust his hold on her, turning her tiny face towards his own. Her green eyes stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed together, the corners of her little mouth pointed down. Rost chuckled to himself, reaching up and moving the furs off her head, allowing the spring breeze to ruffle the shock of red hair. He brushed a thumb over her it gently. 

He’d never seen hair that color in the Sacred Lands, and the only comparison he could come to was the reddish-brown hair of an Oseram merchant he’d met near the Cut.

He tightened his grip on the baby and moved on, his cabin within view now through the gate he’d recently built. The sun was just beginning to set as he stepped onto the front porch of his isolated home.

“This is your home now, little one,” he said quietly, shifting the infant in his arm so she could survey her surroundings. She quietly babbled some nonsense and Rost took that as affirmation.

The fire in the hearth still burned from where he’d left it hours earlier, the boar stew simmering over it. The smell of herbs and meat filled the great-room as he shut the door.

He gathered some of his blankets and skins with a free hand, forming a ‘nest’ of sorts so he could place the infant down. As he removed the furs she’d been swaddled in, the baby girl’s arms and legs kicked out testing her new-found freedom.

Rost smiled as he placed her into the depression he’d made in the blankets before turning to prepare a place for her to sleep until she grew out of it. His mind drifted to memories of the past...

**_The cries of a baby broke the silence of the night, as soft crackles and pops came from the fire in the center of the cabin. Rost felt a stirring in the bed beside him as his mate rose to check on their daughter. In the dim light of the burning coals, Rost watched her as she bent to retrieve the baby and return to sit on their bed. The crib he had made before she’d been born served to keep their daughter safe and close during the nights._ **

He was brought back to the present by the soft wails coming from where he’d placed his newest charge. Rost strode over to the bed quickly and retrieved her, checking her diaper. When nothing seemed to be physically wrong and nothing else seemed to soothe her, he figured she was only hungry. 

But what would he feed her? It wasn’t as if he had the means to feed her himself, and it seemed the High Matriarchs hadn’t thought of this earlier. He had goat’s milk but he wasn’t sure that was a sufficient replacement for an infant her age. He frantically searched his home, desperately trying to remember anything- something.

Then, a soft knock sounded at his door, barely audible over the baby’s wails. He scooped up his adopted daughter, answering the front door, his eyes adjusting to the low light of the early evening.

The messenger from earlier stood in the doorway with a woman from the tribe, Rost didn’t recognize the young woman. She averted her eyes from his gaze and he quickly guessed what she had been sent for.

“High Matriarch Teersa sends her regards and instructs that Telara here will act as nursemaid until the babe can be weaned,” the messenger cleared his throat awkwardly and Telara nodded, eyes still averted. Rost raised his eyebrows in surprise as the tiny infant in his arms started to wail louder.

Of course Teersa would go behind the backs of the other Matriarchs to ensure their success. He was secretly grateful for the kindness. 

Rost nodded his affirmation and the woman hesitated before stepping in and out-stretching her arms towards the squalling infant in his arms. He handed over the fussy baby, as the messenger stepped off the porch, giving them time and space to complete the task.

Rost followed the young man, giving the woman her privacy, which allowed him the time to gather some materials he’d need before the sun went down completely. He had some recently cut wood drying in the sun on the side porch, along with his woodworking tools. The metal shards he used for nails lay in a leather bag nearby. He gathered the materials and hastily constructed a makeshift crib until he could gather better materials. As he worked, the messenger gathered herbs for him just outside the gate, leaving them in a basket on the porch.

He nodded, meeting the young man’s eyes briefly in thanks before the woman Teersa sent stepped out onto the porch quietly. She carried a waterskin in one hand, which she held out at Rost. He took it gently from her and she avoided his gaze as she explained in a low tone, “For the baby until I can return.” 

Rost bowed slightly in thanks, knowing the young woman only broke the taboo for the child’s sake and at Teersa’s behest.

The two left Rost as quietly as they’d came, leaving him to his forced isolation. He carried the makeshift crib into his cabin and set it near his bed. The baby slept peacefully in the ‘nest’ he’d made and he felt slightly guilty moving her and some of the blankets to the crib. She grumbled in her sleep but thankfully slept on. 

After he fed himself and secured the waterskin the woman had given him into the sand-filled cooler he’d made for his food, he settled hear the fire, knife in hand as he whittled away at some scrap wood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared. His visions of his past didn’t come on as frequently as they had during his journey as a Death Seeker.

He had to admit it made his chest hurt seeing another baby girl... but this wasn’t his daughter… this child could never be his Alana.

Nothing could ever replace the family he’d lost, and even sating his vengeance hadn’t filled the space left inside of him from the tragedy.

He reached into one of the pouches on his belt, fingering the bone talisman and leather cord of the necklace he’d given Alana for her naming ceremony. It had become a habit when he’d started to grow nostalgic, the familiar worn leather keeping him grounded during the tougher moments alone.

A soft wail came from the crib near his bed and he replaced the necklace into the pouch on his belt, rising to check on the baby. She squirmed in the blankets he’d arranged around her and he bent to retrieve her from her resting place. He lifted her to his shoulder and patted her back, checking her diaper again. Nothing seemed to soothe her and her distressed cries rose in volume as he shushed her quietly with no effect, pacing the floor of his cabin.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, the deep tones of his voice vibrating through his chest. The baby’s cries seemed to subside briefly when he spoke.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you…” he soothed, his baritone whisper seeming to calm the infant, “No one is going to get you here. I’ve got you…”

The baby’s wails quieted slowly to hiccups as he spoke. It seemed the only thing she’d wanted was to be held.

Rost’s chest hurt thinking about the injustice of it all; she was only a newborn… she didn’t deserve any of this.

The teachings of the tribe ran through his head, and he wondered slightly what had happened to her mother. Was she dead? Only the Matriarchs were allowed inside the sacred mountain, but was it possible for someone to enter without their permission and leave a newborn inside all without being detected?

Who would leave a newborn babe alone in the sacred mountain? All-Mother taught that each new life was precious, especially those made in her image.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon among the Nora that sick or deformed infants were left at the highest point of the mountains surrounding the Sacred Lands, their spirits allowed to return to her Embrace.

But for a completely healthy child to be left and in such a sacred place? It made no sense.

Rost looked down at the infant girl in his arms and his heart broke a little for her. Even though she wasn’t his flesh and blood, he was called to raise her as his own. She would never have to feel as if she was unwanted as long as he had her in his care.

He would have to think of a name for her, as it was tradition to name new additions to the tribe at 6 months of age. At least he would have time to think on it before he made the journey with her. 

Her tiny eyelids fluttered as she fell asleep again, and he placed her in the crib before going to sleep himself, the sound of the night animals drifting into the peaceful cabin.

\---

The two outcasts continued this way, and as the time for the girl’s naming ceremony approached, nightmares plagued Rost’s sleep.

He found himself sitting on the porch in the dark one night after one of these nightmares.

**_They were always bathed in red, sounds of machines fighting and metallic screeching set to the chaos around him. The gates to the sacred land lay split and in shambles at his feet. The water of the lake near those gates dyed red as blood._ **

**_The ground always shook beneath his feet each time the nightmare repeated itself. And a dark shadow loomed above the sacred mountain, where the metal devil’s body had always rusted quietly, it once again moved and shredded the mountainside with its long appendages._ **

**_A Brave was there with him each time the dream plagued his sleep, her face hidden by his subconscious, but her long red hair betraying her identity. No one else had hair that color._ **

**_In his dreams he called out to her, the infant he’d yet to name._ **

**_Aloy!_ **

And each time she’d made to turn his way, he’d awoken abruptly, sweat pouring down his face. Some nights he’d be jolted awake to the sounds of the infant girl’s cries, other nights the cabin laid completely silent. The peace disturbed by his heaving breaths and the crackling of the fire.

This name he called her and the nature of his dreams had to be divine providence. There was no way to describe it and in his mind All-Mother herself was calling out to him through these dreams. It was two days from their journey to the grove where the naming ceremony usually took place. He’d sat up the past few nights as the nightmares grew closer and closer together. His spear would never be any sharper, but still he sat on the porch and ran the tip across a whetstone.

Tonight though, the all-familiar fussing of his charge broke the stillness of the night air and he set his spear by the wall and went to check on the baby.

She was wide awake in the dark, her tiny arms flailing against the furs tucked around her. He brushed a fox skin off her lower half and bent to pick her up from where she struggled. The infant scrunched her face as he brought her to his shoulder, running a soothing hand over her back as he shushed her.

He paced the great room, quietly soothing the fussing child. She hiccupped against his tunic as he ran his hand gently from the back of her neck downwards.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you. I’m here…”

His throat caught suddenly, the urge to use the name he’d heard in his dreams so suddenly strong he had to stop himself. The Nora believed a person wasn’t truly recognized until their naming, the harsh environment and lack of significant medical knowledge leading to a detached demeanor surrounding infants.

As the baby’s hiccups subsided, he adjusted his grip on the child and laid her back into his arms, her hazel eyes staring up at him in the firelight.

“What’s wrong, Aloy?” He cooed, running his fingers over her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead. The baby girl hiccupped again and scrunched her face.

“Not your first choice, huh?” He quipped, lightly poking her belly as she squirmed against his fussing over her.

Her little eyebrows relaxed as she started to fall asleep again and he stared at her a little longer, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of watching her tiny eyelids flutter. As she finally slept, he laid her gently back in the cradle he’d made for her and pulled the fox fur blanket back up over her. The urge to kiss her tiny forehead, as he’d always done to Alana when he’d put her to bed, overcame him and he felt the pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. He quietly cleared his throat and instead just to smooth a thumb across the infant’s cheek,

“Goodnight, Aloy.”


	2. Third year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I hate to admit I have very little experience with young children, so forgive me if I make any errors in developmental milestones here. I only vaguely remember some from my EMT training. I also admit this was one of my favorite "hidden scenes" to write.**

The patter of little footsteps sounded through the cabin’s great room, followed quickly by heavier steps. 

“Aloy, no! Come back here!”

Rost struggled to grab the giggling toddler before she had knocked over his spear and quiver of arrows, making a beeline for the front door as the weapons clattered to the ground. He scooped her up before she could cause more damage to the inside of his cabin and escape out into the snow. For such a little thing she was incredibly fast and destructive.

“NO! No! NO!” the toddler squirmed in his arms, flailing her little legs violently, still giggling wildly. Her face and hands were covered in berry juice and the front of her little tunic was stained purple. Rost had turned his back for two seconds and she had stuffed her face full of the berries he’d kept from the fall harvest. She had devoured more than a day’s worth before he’d caught her and immediately she’d taken off around the cabin, her warbling laughter filling the room. 

“Aloy, stop!” He struggled to get all of her limbs under control as she fought him. Once he had her subdued she struggled still, grunting in frustration. He sighed aloud, praying to All-Mother for the strength to get through the winter months until spring when he could send his adopted daughter out into the front yard, where she could wreak less havoc on his mental health. 

Aloy’s struggles weakened as her grunts started to turn into whines. He set her on his lap, facing him. The toddler pushed at his hands half-heartedly, shaking her head in defiance, her wild red hair falling over her eyes.

“Aloy…” he admonished quietly, wishing for the fortitude his mate had shown Alana as a toddler. 

“Look at me,” he said gently but firmly. The little red-haired girl shook her head, spitting out another, “NO.” 

It seemed to be the only word she knew lately. 

He sighed again loudly, “Fine, be stubborn. I’m not letting you run free until you agree to settle down.”

Unfortunately, Aloy’s stubbornness knew no bounds and he was eventually forced to release her to the cabin floor to play with the little machine toys he’d carved for her. He dreaded the day she could verbally debate him instead of throw tantrums like this. 

He sat down on the cabin floor next to her, pulling out a bone comb to smooth the tousled hair from her face. She grunted at him, jerking away from his ministrations. He rolled his eyes at her unconsciously.

“Wild child, you can’t go outside until I finish the winter jacket I’m working on for you,” he explained to no avail. 

She turned to look up at him, her green-hazel eyes shining bright in the firelight from the hearth. “Rost, snow outside! We play please?” she gave him her best cute face, hoping to sway him. He internally groaned that it was working.

“Yes, it’s snowing outside, but we can’t go out without a jacket for you,” he explained, moving on to quickly swipe at her hopelessly stained face and hands with a wet cloth.

“But we play for little while, then come inside...” Aloy looked up at him and he could see the gears spinning in her head. She was intelligent for a three-year-old and he always felt like she was sizing him up, figuring out a way to get around his rigid rules.

“Aloy…” he admonished again. She sighed loudly, a habit she’d clearly picked up from him, much to his chagrin.

“Okay, okay. No play outside today,” she admitted defeat as he once again took up the bone comb, situating himself behind her and taking up parts of her hair. He brushed out the knots gently and she soon pulled from his grasp, turning to face him. Her little hands came to rest on the side of his face as she forced him to focus on her. 

He had to admit, her energy was infectious and he smiled softly as she patted his braided beard.

“Rost! Rost, do it like yours!” She smiled widely, pointing a chubby finger up at the top of his head. 

He chuckled, “You want your hair like mine? I’d have to shave it all off on the sides!” He teased her, tickling her sides as she giggled, “Do you want me to shave your head?” He used a silly voice as he asked this, poking her in the stomach. She squirmed between giggles, pushing his hands from their relentless pursuit.

“No...no. like yours,” she repeated in a huff, before gathering as much of her untamed hair into her little fists as she could, mimicking a ponytail like his. He nodded in understanding. 

“Alright then.” 

He grabbed a blue string from the table nearby and she settled back in front of him, playing with the little Strider he’d carved for her. He ran the comb through her fire-colored locks once more, gathering it up into the back before tying the string off around it. A few errant strands hung down around Aloy’s forehead but he still grabbed the nearby mirror to show her his work. He’d made it from a piece of a Grazer’s side panel, buffed out of all paint and shined to reflect. 

He held it out in front of the toddler seated in his lap, and her eyes lit up as she surveyed his handiwork. “Does that look right?” he asked, ruffling the fluff at the end of her ponytail. She giggled and smiled up at him through the mirror’s reflection, slapping her tiny hands against the surface of the metal. 

He reached down and smoothed a few of the strands off her forehead gently with one hand, using the reflection in the mirror as guidance. He caught a glimpse of the fond look he was giving her before Aloy turned in his arms, standing up in his lap. He set the makeshift mirror aside, putting his hands up to support her tiny waist and make sure she didn’t fall over. The toddler looked straight into his eyes, a small smile on her face, the firelight revealing the freckles on her little cheeks.

“I love you,” she said suddenly, smoothing a hand over his braided beard. The breath caught in his throat, and he was caught in another memory. 

**_Papa, I love you._ **

**_I love you._ **

**_Alana stood in his lap, the firelight reflecting in her blue eyes, the dark brown braids hanging in her hair tied off with the same kind of blue string. He could hear his love’s laughter from the front porch as she brought in the evening’s kill for dinner. His daughter grabbed at his much shorter beard, tugging lightly._ **

**_‘I love you too, Alana,’ he’d said, smoothing her dark colored hair over her little shoulder before hugging her close._ **

**_He remembered even the smell of his home in Mother’s Vigil, the sounds of the night creatures in the valley and the distant sounds of the Broadhorns grazing near the village._ **

“Rost…Rost…” another tiny voice brought him back to the present. 

Aloy squirmed in his lap, looking slightly uncomfortable at his prolonged silence. He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The little redheaded girl sat back in his lap, looking away, her hands worrying the edge of her shirt. Her eyebrows were furrowed together at his continued lack of reply. He was confused, he’d never said these words out loud to her. How could she possibly know of them? Perhaps she’d overheard them said during their journeys past the villages of the Sacred Lands.

“Bad?”

Her voice sounded so small and far away it pained him to hear it. He wrapped his arms around the toddler then, pulling her into his chest before finding his voice again. 

“No...no, Aloy. Not bad. Not bad at all,” he assured her, smoothing a hand over her back. 

She pushed on his chest with her tiny hands, moving so she could observe his face before asking very softly, “You sad?” He shook his head in affirmation.

“A little,” he said, before resting his forehead against hers, allowing himself to answer her affection, 

“I love you too, Aloy.” 

Her face lit up as the words left his lips and she jumped off his lap, energy renewed, grabbing her toy Watcher off the floor before running around the house. 

He watched fondly as the ache in his heart deepened.


	3. Sixth year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018

After the incident with the young man from the tribe who’d fallen running the old Brave trails, Aloy had angrily taken off ahead of him, following the trail towards their home. 

He’d watched her stalk off along the road before she disappeared out of his sight. He’d seen a group of children from the tribe, along with one of the mothers and a few Braves, picking berries and herbs along the path back towards the Embrace gate. 

The little valley near the path up to his cabin was a popular spot for the activity because of its seclusion and relative safety. He caught up then with Aloy just as a concerning scene played out. 

He hadn’t seen the blonde Nora child throw the first rock, but he watched as Aloy caught the second rock in mid-air. He waited on bated breath for her reaction, hoping his teachings as of late would stick. 

As she dropped the rock and the children ran back to the Nora mother calling for them, he let out a breath he’d been holding, silently approaching the sniffling girl as she gingerly touched her forehead.

He knelt and smoothed a medicinal paste over the bleeding cut above her eyebrow.

Aloy was confused about why the children from the tribe treated her differently and why the tribe’s adults treated her with such contempt. He knew he would have to explain the tribe’s laws to her more in-depth as time went on. But after yesterday, when she’d fallen into that ruin near Mother’s Heart, she’d completely ignored him that night in favor of the ancient piece of technology she now wore near her ear. He was uncertain if his explanations would be sufficient for her. 

She prodded him for answers and he knew that it was probably easier to give her something to work for so the tribe’s laws wouldn’t seem so unfair. 

He had planned on explaining the Proving to her soon, as he had already begun teaching her how to survive in the wild. Her drive to know who her mother was afforded the opportunity to begin her training, and he hoped, the necessary motivation. 

She took off excitedly towards home after he’d told her what she needed to hear and he had to jog to catch up to her. 

He watched silently as she ran up the steps to their home, hanging her quiver of arrows near his game bag on the porch. She rushed through her chores that night before passing out on her bed across the room from his. 

He tucked her in before falling asleep himself, falling into a dreamless state quickly after the events of the day.

\----

It had to be the earliest hours of the morning when he was awoken suddenly, the sound of Aloy’s voice pulling him from sleep.

“No! no! … Rost!... no!” 

He jumped out of bed, reaching for the spear near his bed before his eyes adjusted to the low light from the coals smoldering in the fireplace. Aloy was having a nightmare, the covers thrown off her bed as she struggled with some unseen enemy. 

Rost knelt near the fire and blew softly on the coals, adding another piece of wood before walking quietly over to where she lay. He gently sat on the side of her bed, reaching up and softly shaking her shoulder while whispering her name. Her face was screwed up in pain and fear and it pained him to think the day’s adventure had left more than a physical mark on her.

Aloy whimpered in her sleep before sitting up suddenly, hazel eyes wide in fear, her hair mussed up from struggling in her sleep.

“Rost!” she almost screamed, before he gathered her up into his arms, automatically shushing her as her shoulders shook under his hands.

Aloy wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and pressed her face in the space near his collarbone. He could feel her hot tears streaming down his neck as she whimpered quietly. He shushed her gently still, running a hand down her back, hoping her tears would subside. 

She quieted down slowly as they sat and he was unsure if she’d fallen asleep in his arms, before she asked quietly, breaking the silence, her voice muffled against his shirt. 

“Rost, why are we outcasts?” 

He’d tried to explain to her many times the tribe’s laws but it was hard when Aloy didn’t accept that being motherless could be an offense worthy of being shunned. He’d explained earlier that they didn’t know who her mother was, nor where she’d gone to. He’d agreed to never tell her why he’d been cast out, but it didn’t stop her from asking about herself.

“Aloy, I’ve told you-” he started, before she cut him off. 

“Why should the tribe hate me because my mother didn’t want me?” she snapped. He sighed loudly, squeezing her tighter to his chest.

“Aloy, no one said your mother didn’t want you,” he explained slowly, “no one knew her. It’s not for us to know.”

She pushed away from his chest, “But she left me! Why would you leave something unless you didn’t want it?” 

Sometimes her constant thinking and processing everything he’d told her was a curse as well as a blessing. It meant the simple answer was never enough for her, and although he welcomed her curiosity, she challenged every lesson he taught her. 

“Aloy, it doesn’t matter now. Do you think I don’t want you? That I would leave you outside the gates to fend for yourself?” He tried to reason with her, steer her away from her current train of thought. He silently hoped this was not the source of her distress, that she believed he’d also abandon her to her fate.

“No, you’d never do that,” she answered, sitting back in his lap, staring at her hands.

“Then you don’t have to worry,” he affirmed, “is that what your nightmare was about?” 

She threw her arms around his neck again, hiding her face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking very gently from side to side. 

“That boy threw a rock at me because I’m an outcast,” she murmured into his shirt. 

Rost exhaled, furrowing his brow. He’d wondered what had started the rock throwing earlier. He’d carefully cleaned the cut over her eyebrow, smoothing a paste of Hintergold and Salvebrush over the wound. It was deep and he knew unfortunately it would scar. The Nora boy should have been punished for his act of cruelty, but no Nora mother had seen his actions and Rost was unable to do anything to him as an Outcast.

“He shouldn’t have done that, but the tribe doesn’t speak to us because the laws say they shouldn’t. Like the man who yelled at us after you saved that boy who fell, he was only following All-Mother’s instructions,” even as he said it, his explanation sounded hollow in his own ears after members of the tribe had shown such cruelty. He felt rather than heard Aloy’s sigh of frustration as she shifted in his arms. He released her and tucked her back into bed before smoothing the bangs out of her eyes, laying a kiss on her forehead opposite the injured side. 

No child deserved to be treated this way, especially Aloy. He could do his best to heal the pain the tribe caused her, but he knew it to be futile.


	4. Thirteenth year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is the puberty chapter I mentioned. Rost never had the unfortunate luck of a pre-teen daughter going through those great years /sarcasm/. Only a mild warning as this is a mature-ish theme, but I don't go into any detail.**

“ROST!” 

He sat up out of bed, pushing the blankets off violently while reaching for his spear. In the low light of the fire he looked over to find Aloy sitting up in her bed, her hands covered in what looked like blood. 

He jumped out of bed as fast as he could manage, moving to her side while scanning the cabin for an intruder. Finding none, Rost looked her up and down, frantically checking for anything- a wound of some kind that could explain the blood on her hands. Her green-hazel eyes stared up at him in pure fear as he patted her torso and abdomen, searching frantically. She was almost hyperventilating at this point as her eyes shifted from her bloodied hands to his worried face.

She pushed his hands away violently before he could reach her pelvis, lifting the covers off her lower half. They both looked down and he saw the source of the blood then.

Oh…

 

“Am I dying?” she asked, her voice cracking in fear, sounding suddenly much smaller. 

Rost had dreaded this day as he had never had the chance to explain womanhood to Alana. He racked his brain for anything- some teaching, lesson, explanation his mate had given him. He came up slightly short, remembering only vaguely what he’d been told. The panicked look on Aloy’s face made his throat close up, this was so unexpected. 

He swallowed thickly, “No… you’re not dying,” he said softly, reaching for a rag from the bowl of water near the table and cleaning her hands for her slowly. When they were clean she grabbed at her torso, grimacing suddenly. 

“Then why do I feel like it?” she moaned, uncomfortable and in obvious pain. 

He chuckled lightly, “Aloy, this is supposed to happen. You’re becoming a young woman.” 

He could see the blush staining her freckled cheeks in the fire light. Her eyebrows coming together as she started to understand what was happening to her. 

“This is embarrassing,” she groaned, looking at her stained clothes and blankets, her clean hands covering her face.

“I know, but it’s natural,” he explained, standing and gathering the basin they used for bathing, placing it in the back corner of the great room and placing a pot of water over the fire, then hanging a tapestry so she could clean herself up in relative privacy. Aloy had bunched her blankets on her bed and sat curled into a ball, arms around her knees pulled up to her chest. She was pulling at one of her braids as she watched him warily from across the room, and he felt terrible that he’d essentially shrugged off her concern and fear.

“Here,” he motioned for her to come over as he poured some of the water he’d been heating over the fire into the basin, gathering some rags and a towel for her. 

She carefully rose from the bed and shuffled over, eyes averted from his. He gave her the privacy she needed as he took her bed-clothes out to the porch to add to their dirty laundry basket, gathering more blankets from the storeroom he’d built outside. When he returned inside, he brought some spun cotton rags for her. When she was dressed and cleaned, he began to uncomfortably explain puberty to the young teenager as she squirmed in her seat.

She stared at the floor the entire time, a blush across her freckled cheeks, and he was sure she was just as uncomfortable as he was in this situation. When she finally spoke up she sounded more like herself.

“Why couldn’t All-Mother come up with a less messy way to have babies?” she asked, scrunching her nose up incredulously. “It seems… inconvenient.”

Rost stifled a laugh behind his hand, “You’re not _having_ a baby... you’re too young. This is different.” 

He explained, shaking the creeping thoughts away of that possibility. He could barely handle the thought that his little girl was now considered a woman to the tribe.

“But you just said I could now that this happened! I don’t want to! I don’t want to be a mother!” 

She bunched the clean blankets in her fists, angrily shaking her head at him. He rubbed a hand over his forehead in frustration, she was missing the point of this whole talk. 

“Aloy, you don’t have to be a mother right now,” he shifted uncomfortably on the stool he’d pulled up to sit across from her before huffing, “I'm done having this conversation with you.”

“Good, this was awful and I feel sick to my stomach,” she snapped at him. She pulled at a strand of her hair anxiously as her face screwed up in pain again, her other hand going to her stomach.

Not giving her outburst a second thought, he grabbed a corked bottle from the table and tossed it to her. 

She caught it deftly and, after inspecting it, downed a sip of the pain-relieving elixir continuing to glare at him as he went back to his bed, turning his back to her from across the room. He had forgotten how his mate had been irritable around her moon cycle as well, albeit with less pain. He hoped he had explained everything sufficiently and he went through a made-up list in his head before starting to succumb to sleep. 

Then a soft voice came from across the room:

“Rost…” he turned in his bed towards where Aloy sat up still, in clean blankets and clothes, her red hair lay unbraided drying around her head. She fumbled with the blanket in her lap, not meeting his gaze as she thought over her next words.

“Thank you,” she said very softly, looking at him briefly before laying down and turning away from him. He followed her, turning back around in bed and pulling a blanket over his shoulder.

He smiled softly to himself but knew this event only signaled their days together were slowly dwindling away.


	5. Sixteenth year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I admit I got the idea for this chapter "Put your spear beside mine" by queenofkadara. Unfortunately that is an Explicit fic, so I will not provide a link since younger readers may stumble on my story. This is not explicit of course and relies on a flashback Aloy has in queenofkadara's fic.**

The summer heat had the two of them stripped down to the bare essentials, cooling near the river at the base of the Brave trail he’d built a few years ago for Aloy to train on. Their clothes lay drying out on the nearby rocks and their other dirty laundry hung from a line Rost has strung up between two trees. 

Rost shrugged on a clean undershirt and brushed off his leggings, rolled up to his knees as his feet dangled in the river. Aloy was beside him, scrubbing a recent bruise on her calf with a salve-based soap she’d helped him create as she had started to get injured in training more often, rushing off to attempt more dangerous climbs or fight multiple Scrappers. The medicinal smell of the soap filled the air around them as she hesitantly lowered her injured leg into the stream’s flow.

He surveyed his reflection in the running water, pulling a knife out from the bag nearest him to trim the hair around the sides of his head. Aloy watched him struggle to see his reflection clearly in the moving water’s surface, unsteadily shaving a patch of hair. 

“Here, let me do it,” she offered, holding a hand out for the knife. She’d helped him in the past in exchange for his help braiding her hair as she’d started to learn what hairstyle she liked best. The memory of her early attempts at braids brought a smile to his face.

Rost handed her the knife handle-first and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. She surveyed his hair and started cutting away. He could feel her breath on the side of his face, her callused fingers holding his ear away from where she worked. 

They had lived in relative silence and solitude after she’d begun her training for the Proving. Many nights after they’d finished their work for the day, Aloy would lay in her bed staring at the air above her, moving her hands in some strange way as the blue light from the Focus near her ear shone into the cabin’s low light. Rost had asked her about the device and she’d explained how it worked, and he’d seen how it made her more aware of things others would never notice. Even though he disapproved of the ancient technology, he welcomed her fascination with tracking and hunting, using it to add to her skills. 

But as a side effect, they spoke much less than before and the more intimate times they’d had when she was younger drifted further and further apart. Aloy was less vocal about her emotions and took to the forested areas of the Embrace when she was upset, seeking him less for comfort and holding everything in. She would run off to trade with Karst near Mother’s Cradle, against his wishes, or climb up to places he could no longer reach with age creeping on him. She thought he didn’t notice the tear-stains or the red around her eyes when she’d return to the cabin when she’d run off. 

When he’d ask her to help Odd Grata or hunt for more food, she’d contradict his teachings about All-Mother and defy him outright. It was tiring debating tribal law with her, as she always saw through his reasoning and never tired of arguing. 

Sitting here now in comfortable silence beside the river, with her practiced hands shaving the lines of his signature style into his hair, he admitted to himself that he felt like she was truly his daughter.

They’d never really spoken about it outright, except once when she’d been especially ill and feverish around her 14th year. 

**_He’d kept vigil over her bedside as she slipped in and out of consciousness between fevered dreams. He had just wrung out the cloth after dipping it in the basin of water before replacing it on her forehead, slipping into his thoughts. Alana’s necklace lay between his fingers, he smoothed a thumb over the carved bone pendant as he rubbed the leather cord between his fingers, remembering brown hair and blue eyes._ **

**_“Rost…” he looked up to find Aloy’s eyes cracked open, her head propped up against a pillow, flame-red hair spread around it like a halo. He checked her temperature with the back of his hand against her temple, removing the cloth again and setting it into the bowl of cold water beside him._ **

**_“You should rest, Aloy,” he’d urged gently, brushing a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. She grabbed his hand suddenly, holding it against the side of her face._ **

**_“Please tell me what that is,” she’d asked, looking down at his other hand, where the necklace rested. He shook his head but she pressed him. He knew there was a chance she faintly recognized it, as he’d let her wear it regularly after her Naming until he’d caught her chewing on it around age 3._ **

**_“It’s very special to me,” he said lamely, “it belonged to someone I loved very much.”_ **

**_Aloy had looked up at him, her hazel eyes searching his face for answers, even in her feverish state she was ever watchful. He remembered how she’d bit at her lip, a habit she’d developed on her own, working over her next words carefully._ **

**_“You let me wear it before,” she stated slowly._ **

**_“I did,” he said, clutching the necklace tightly and her fingers gripped his hand to her face tighter. She breathed in and held it for a second, a concerned look in her eyes._ **

**_“Rost…” she started hesitantly, “I know the matriarchs gave me to you…”_ **

**_She was trying to meet his eyes as she continued, “…but am I your daughter?”_ **

**_The question should not have thrown him so harshly as it had then, he admitted to himself with the event now two years past. He had sucked in a breath and met her eyes, which had searched his face for understanding, the brief flicker of hope there in those green depths._ **

**_They had never blatantly spoken about the subject and he’d hated quenching that small flicker of hope he had no idea she’d been carrying._ **

**_“No, Aloy, I did not father you,” he stated lowly, watching her eyes fall from his face, her fingers slipping from the hand he now willingly rested on her cheek. He smoothed his thumb over the freckled skin there as her eyes closed, her eyebrows coming together. The necklace in his other hand felt as heavy as a Thunderjaw as he chose his next words carefully._ **

**_“But you are my daughter,” the words barely passed his lips before he felt the guilt of admitting his deepest thoughts to her._ **

**_He had seen the fever clouding her judgement, and unshed tears gathered in her eyes as she met his gaze again. He knew in her vulnerable, febrile state, Aloy wouldn’t remember much of this conversation. He hoped silently that she would, and the crooked smile on her teenaged face had made his heart swell in his chest. She had slipped back into her dreams then and when she recovered they never spoke of it again._ **

Her older voice brought him out of his memories, “There you go… done.”

Rost surveyed her handiwork, before brushing his hand through the short hair on the sides, the small hairs falling into the water below. He looked behind him and gave an approving nod to Aloy, who smiled crookedly, handing him back the knife after she cleaned it in the stream.

She pulled out her own bone comb, untying her hair from the loose ponytail she’d tied to keep the bulk of it out of her face while they worked on cleaning their clothing and armor. 

He watched as the reddish curtain of her hair fell forward over her shoulders, the sun-bleached tips long enough to reach mid-bicep now. Aloy reached for the beads and ties she’d taken out while she’d washed her hair thoroughly earlier. 

Rost remembered fondly the days when she’d just started to learn how to braid her hair, how the braids had been crooked and uneven, and her exasperated growls had filled the cabin. He had offered to help her and she’d turned him down more and more as she started to master the hairstyle she’d adopted for herself. 

He watched now as she worked out the remaining knots silently surveying the work she’d done earlier. A sudden wave of nostalgia hit him and before he could stop himself, knowing the answer beforehand, he asked,

“Need a hand?”

He mentally kicked himself as she turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised incredulously. But before the sting of rejection hit him, he felt the handle of the bone comb and the little leather pouch of hair accessories hit his outstretched hand. He sat dumbfounded, staring at her back as she’d turned for him to work on her hair. He felt a sudden wave of affection for her, knowing this may be the last time he got to do this before she went through the Proving. 

He saw her glance over her shoulder back at him, confused at the lack of action, so he quickly began brushing his hands through her fire-colored locks, working out the last of the tangles and starting to separate the strands she braided normally. 

He felt her release a relaxed sigh and watched her shoulders slump forward. She always worked herself to her limits during their training sessions, it was nice to see her take a day off once in a while to do some necessary self-care. 

As he braided the hair from the side of her head back, he noticed the Focus she normally wore was between her fingers, as she inspected it for any damage.

“I can’t believe you’ve kept that thing all of these years and it hasn’t broken,” he said lightly. 

She snorted aloud, “I’m surprised it hasn’t broken with everything I’ve done.” 

Rost smiled slightly, glad to have some conversation with her that wasn’t focused on training or hunting. He continued with his work, sectioning off the parts of her hair she pinned back out of her face, tying off the ends of the braids he’d finished. He chanced a look at her face and found it upturned towards the summer sun’s rays, a small content smile on her lips. The freckles dotting her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose were more prominent in the midday light. She hadn’t yet applied the charcoal eyeshadow she always wore, and it seemed her dark eyelashes were more prominent against her cheeks. 

The old warrior chuckled to himself, knowing the looks the beautiful young woman he’d raised received every time she chanced travelling through Mother’s Cradle. It wasn’t hard to catch the longing some of the young Braves and young hunters shot her way when normally so many gave her the cold shoulder or outright rude glares. 

Rost inwardly hoped she’d find someone to share her life with when she won the Proving, 

not if of course, 

he knew that the teenager in front of him was capable of winning the whole thing right now, albeit without a few life lessons he wanted to leave her with before releasing her to her destiny. (Whatever that meant, as High Matriarch Teersa had spoken many years before.) But the tribe’s laws stated a prospective Brave must reach their 19th year before completing the Proving, the age of adulthood in the tribe’s and All-Mother’s eyes. 

He silently thanked the Goddess Aloy still had three years with him, as he would miss her greatly when it came time for the Proving. And also because she was still extremely selfish, focused solely on the goal she’d set for herself at six years old. Yes, he had a lot of life lessons he wanted her to learn before she left his care. 

He finished her hair, slipping the last bead over a strand before tying it off. 

Aloy inspected his work and smiled widely, before turning around and surprising him with the rarest of emotional displays: a hug. He held her a little tighter and longer than she’d expected, as he felt her tense up at first before relaxing into the embrace.

His little girl was getting older and he had to make the best of what little time they had together.


	6. Seventeenth year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is more of a filler as I'm working on the last two parts of this story during my study breaks for finals. Aloy's spear is probably my favorite weapon out of all videogame character's weapons Ive encountered. I've been working on a cosplay for next year's comic con and Aloy's spear is more complicated than it looks! So here's my take on how she made it and how Rost helped.**

The silence of the winter afternoon was cut suddenly by the warning clicks and squawks of a Watcher. 

Rost observed from his hidden perch above as Aloy dove out of the path of a charging Scrapper. The machines were scavenging parts from the Strider herd he had directed his apprentice to silently take down. As the last Strider had fallen, he’d heard the low growl and grinding of Scrappers’ jaws and he’d watched, arrow nocked on his bowstring, as two of the dangerous machines and their Watcher companion approached the slaughtered herd. Aloy had remained hidden in the tall grass and he had seen a flash of the dark brown boar skin cloak he’d helped her make to weather the colder weather. 

Rost had watched Aloy silently take down one of the Scrappers and after he could have swore she shot him a wink and grin from her hiding spot between two bushes. But even with his confidence growing in her abilities, the warning screeches of the Watcher had him drawing his bow to take aim in case things went wrong. 

To his relief, an orange-fletched arrow blinded the machine and it slunk to the ground with a few hisses and sparks. The characteristic sounds of a successful disabling blow emanating from its carcass.

His release of the breath he’d been holding was premature, as the yellow lights of the Scrapper’s mechanical eyes turned red. Having sighted the red-haired girl crouched near the bushes, the machine reared back, its toothy grinding apparatus sparking as it released a growl. 

Before he had time to stand and warn Aloy, he watched as she dodged the alert machine’s charge and swiping foreclaws. She reached for the spear he’d given her for the hunt and turned back towards the hostile Scrapper. It swiped at her again before leaning back on its haunches. In response, Aloy leaned forward on her toes, prepared to strike or jump out of the way. But the Scrapper acted erratically, instead of charging again as the machines usually did, it shook its jaws at the red-haired huntress and scratched its metal claws in to the snow, prepared to strike. 

Rost pulled back his bow to full-draw, aiming for the power cell on the malfunctioning Scrapper’s haunches, but he was too slow.

Aloy moved first, making a beginner’s mistake and attacking head-on with her spear, breaking off the machine’s headplate armor. The attack did little to stop the Scrapper from slashing out with its deadly claws and catching the young woman across the left thigh. Aloy released a cry of pain and surprise, stumbling back.

Rost released the arrow, watching as it hit the power cell, damaging it and causing it to spark and detach from the hostile machine. He hoped the blow would give Aloy the advantage she needed over the Scrapper, but without making the kill for her. 

He could hear Aloy’s labored breath as he hurried to climb down from his hiding place. As his feet hit the snow bank below, he watched as Aloy spun on her uninjured leg and whipped her spear through the air, before it made contact with the Scrapper’s scanning apparatus, doing the damage needed to weaken the machine enough for her to lunge forward and pierce the wiring under its front legs and finally shut the machine down.

Rost jogged forward, shouldering his bow and taking a quick account of their surroundings. As he approached where Aloy was crouched near the last Scrapper, he could see the blood splatters in the snow. A quickly blooming red stain stood out on the young huntress’ winter leggings, which were split in four jagged lines around the deep cuts in her skin. Aloy was already chewing on hintergold petals, ruffling through one of her pouches for clean bandages, by the time her reached her side.

The redhead grit her teeth as she slathered a medicinal paste over her wound, smearing the blood and herbs over her quivering muscle. Rost kneeled and gently pushed her onto her backside into the snow, reaching for her injured leg and inspecting her first aid. He wrapped the wound in the clean bandages she held before inspecting the mass of metal and wires left of the offending Scrapper.

Aloy hissed as he tied the bandage before groaning disappointedly, “Oh shit, my spear…” 

Rost looked to where she was grimacing, her eyebrows knit together in anger. The spear he’d given her was shattered near the tip, the metal bent at an odd angle and the shaft splintered in two. He sighed inwardly: that weapon had been difficult to gather the parts for, but he was thankful it had done its job, saving Aloy from a worse injury or premature death.

“At least the spear is broken and not your leg,” he chastised, “What did I tell you about taking on a Scrapper?” 

She grumbled her reply, “Weaken them before using a spear to attack - It won’t happen again.”

He watched the seventeen-year-old’s face, which was turned towards the destroyed machine, as she wiped a hand over her brow. He shook his head and stood, offering a hand to her. She took it and carefully rose from her place on the snowy ground, hissing in pain as she put weight on her injured leg.

“I’ll harvest your kills, but remember, I won’t always be here to-“

“I know, I know. I have to survive on my own someday,” she interrupted him rudely, shaking her sweaty hair off of her neck before moving off toward the Watcher she’d killed, plucking the arrow from its lens. 

“Aloy-“ he warned. She inhaled through her teeth, knowing the tone of voice before sending a ‘sorry’ his way as she crafted more arrows to replace the ones she’d used.

He tossed the useful machine parts in the knapsack he’d brought along and threw it over his shoulder, before turning back towards his humbled protege. 

“Follow.”

Aloy didn’t complain once as they headed back to their cabin in silence, even though he was sure the climb up the steep path was probably worse on an injured leg.

When they’d settled in and cleaned up, Rost watched as Aloy inspected the gashes on her thigh, her eyebrows furrowing as she took in the damage the Scrapper had inflicted. The claw marks would scar for sure without stitching, but he knew how much she hated needles. 

Rost restrung his bow after he’d oiled the wooden grip and re-tightened the wiring and string holding the metal pieces to its frame. Aloy was cleaning her wound silently across the room from him, deep in thought, the corners of her mouth turned down into a worried frown.

Deciding it was better to act now than let her live with the scars, he rummaged through their well-used healing supply chest and produced a thin silk thread and curved needle. He inspected the shelf above for the bottle of alcohol and disinfected the needle before he heard a groan from across the room.

“Rost, noooo, it’ll be fine. I don’t need stitches,” Aloy ran a hand down her face and shot him a pleading look as he flamed the needle in the fire. She covered her wound with the wet cloth she’d been using and shot him a glare and he cocked an eyebrow at her attempts to avoid the inevitable.

“Aloy, those cuts are too deep to heal with only a bandage. It won’t take me very long to stitch them up and you’ll be healed within a week or two,” He set the needle and thread on a clean roll of bandages and pulled up a stool across from Aloy’s bed where she was perched, hugging her injured leg to her torso. 

“Besides do you want those scars?” 

She bit her lip, despite being an outcast, he knew she prided herself on her appearance and even though she’d gained a few small scars over the years, these would be much bigger. Rost watched as she set her jaw.

“Fine. Get it over with,” she conceded.

Rost poured some of the strong fruit alcohol into a nearby cup and handed it to her before disinfecting the needle again after threading it. 

“What’s this for?” Aloy sniffed the liquid as she held it, scrunching her nose at the harsh smell.

“To dull the pain,” Rost explained, before using one hand to expose her wound and inspect her cleaning job.

He saw her down the entire glass in one go before he could stop her and had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud as she coughed and sputtered. The alcohol was all they had besides the herbs they could gather, but it was still best to not drink the amount he’d given her so quickly.

He waited for her coughing to subside and for her to nod that she was ready before piercing the skin around the largest gash, beginning the process of closing the cut. Aloy cried out, grabbing his tunic above the shoulders and bunching the material in her fists. He felt terrible that he had to cause her more pain, but it had to be done. 

“I-I don’t t-think that stuff is- Ah!- working. Shit!” Aloy gritted her teeth, her eyes scrunched shut as the muscles in her jaw clenched. The muscle of her injured thigh spasmed under his quick fingers. He worked as fast as he could, but it took time to stitch up an injury like this. 

“Hang in there, almost done,” Rost soothed, tying off the stitches to the third cut.

“Well hurry up!” Aloy snapped at him, her hands going to her head to cover her eyes and hide the tears of pain. Rost felt a pang in his chest at this and worked quickly to finish the last stitch and clean and re-dress the wound.

When he finished tying the last bandage around her quivering leg he reached out and gently pulled Aloy’s hands from her face, wiping the tears from her eyes and pushing a few wild hairs off of her brow. Her hazel eyes were on his face, but he could see the alcohol’s effects had finally started to kick in. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead and smoothed away the sweat that had begun to form there.

“You did well today, even if you made a mistake, you still fought like a Brave,” his encouragement brought a small smile to the teenager’s face but she averted her eyes.

“But I did break my spear… you said a hunter maintains their weapons,” she hurried through what he assumed was going to be an apology before he cut her off.

“I was actually thinking about that,” Rost watched as she observed him warily, “you’ve earned your right to make your own spear by now, and I’m tired of making new ones every time you grow.”

Aloy’s eyes lit up as she grinned at him. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now...rest,” he pushed her back into her bed before moving back to his side of the cabin for the night.

———

The next morning the two warriors sat at their table and Aloy sketched out a rough drawing of what she wanted in her spear. Rost admitted, that like everything else, Aloy had her own flair to things- and her weapon design was no exception. She’d earned certain marks for taking down machines and completing tasks he’d sent her on, and he assured her she was allowed to add those to her design.

The next weeks as she began to heal enough for her to accompany him on longer hunts, she helped him smooth down a branch from a tree she’d selected. He watched bemusedly as she carved a design in the rounded pommel at night after they’d settled down after the day’s lessons. He provided her the string she needed when she found the right machine parts. 

The Scrapper’s claws or Watcher’s legs she inspected during their quest for the best parts always earned a huff of disapproval and Rost knew she’d eventually turn to Karst if she couldn’t find what she needed.

Although he outwardly disapproved of the blatant disrespect for Nora law, he admitted to himself that it was nice Aloy had a semi-congenial interaction with the trader. (Even if she risked both of their punishment by trading with a member of the tribe) And just as he’d predicted, as soon as she’d gathered a few Watcher hearts and Blaze canisters, she’d snuck off towards Mother’s Cradle. 

When she returned that evening, he was prepared to scold her, but the look of absolute excitement on her face stopped him. She showed him a long strut piece she’d traded for to reinforce her spear shaft, but the crowning jewel was the piece Karst had apparently told her was the “Talon of a Stormbird”. 

**_Lightning crackled through the air as Rost crouched in the thick Jungle. The bugs swarmed around him as he observed the massive form of the machine the Carja had named ‘Storm-Bird’. He could almost feel the pressure of the wind on his skin from beneath the huge bird’s wings, which spat flame at certain intervals._ **

**_His guide had pointed at this spot on the map and urged Rost to avoid it, but he had to see the magnificent machine for himself before he moved further into the jungle between the mesas, searching for his next target._ **

**_His next kill was much smaller and more human in nature, and unfortunately the Stormbird would have to wait for another day. His quest for revenge was still more important than hunting. But he chanced one more look at the giant machine as it patrolled its hunting grounds._ **

Rost didn’t have to heart to tell Aloy that Stormbird talons were more dark chrome in color and that she’d probably been sold a piece of a recent Sawtooth kill from beyond the Embrace’s gates. The excited look in her hazel eyes as she recounted Karst’s story about the great flying machine bird which patrolled over a hostile desert stopped him and he decided it was best to just let it be.

While she’d been gone, he’d finished painting two circular joint pieces in the style of his personal mark. He kept them out of sight until Aloy had finished assembling her spear how she wanted it, tying off the last knot.

“So is it done?” He asked.

She nodded.

“I… have something for you - to finish it off, and prove you’ve earned it,” Rost explained, producing the marks. 

He watched as Aloy inspected the circular pieces, her fingers tracing the blue line down the center of the parts. He pushed them into her hands before reaching out and hesitantly tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

He saw her eyes begin to water before she straightened her shoulders and put on a serious face, and he let his hand fall from behind her ear.

“Thank you, Rost,” she said quietly, before reaching for her new spear and affixing the marks near the tip, reinforcing the ties around the joint between the backbone and ‘talon’. She stood from her place near the fire and spun the weapon around, watching the tip as it moved through the air. He had to admit it was an impressive spear, and he hoped it would serve her well during the Proving and in her life as a Brave with the tribe. 

She made to move for the cabin door before Rost called out, weary from the day spent maintaining their home and training supplies. 

“How about we put that new weapon to good use tomorrow morning?”

He heard a quick laugh from Aloy as she sprung out the front door into the front yard, the sounds of the training dummies he’d spent the afternoon fixing hitting the ground echoing into the cabin’s interior.

Rost groaned out loud.


	7. Goodbyes are the hardest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/5/2018 completed work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Here it is.**  
>  The worst part of the story and everyone who has played the game knew this was coming when I started this fic. I struggled writing this part and giving this chapter what I wanted it to have without being word-for-word the scenes from the game. Forgive me for the heart break but here we go. *MAJOR SPOILER WARNING FOR "THE PROVING" QUESTLINE AND HZD IN GENERAL.*

Rost awoke in the early hours of the morning, the night birds were still calling outside the cabin as he silently dressed and put on his boots. Aloy was draped haphazardly across her bed, her mouth half-open in her sleep as she laid on her side. He red hair lay strewn across her pillow, unbraided. 

Her bow and spear laid near her bed from where she’d left them the night before after meticulously checking everything in preparation for the Proving in two days. 

_Two days…_

Rost stopped near the door, his weathered hand on the smooth wood, worn from years of use. Hanging on pegs near where he stood were his and Aloy’s winter gear and quivers of arrows. He reached out and fingered the fletching of one of the nearby arrows, remembering when he’d taught Aloy how to harvest feathers to craft arrows. The old warrior chanced a glance at the still sleeping young woman across the room, as she’d shifted in her sleep, laying on her back now.

He only had two more days with her, and it was tearing him up inside. He swallowed down the tears threatening to break and swiped a hand over his face. Rost had mulled over the last lesson he had to teach Aloy before he said goodbye.

He left the cabin’s quiet stillness and headed up to the start of the zipline he’d built a while back. The light of the sunrise had just begun to break over the mountains enclosing All-Mother’s embrace. This morning the Goddess had graced her people with a soft rose-glow and Rost watched as the sunlight started to slowly creep over the watchtowers, then Mother’s Cradle, and across the paths through the Embrace towards the hunting grounds. As the rays finally reached the place he was standing he heard his name from back up the pathway near the cabin.

Aloy was awake and it was time to begin her training one last time. Rost took in a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to happen tonight.

He could hear Aloy’s footsteps and her small grunt of effort climbing to where he stood before he turned to find her standing there. He told her what was needed to finish her training before she stood silently for only a moment, her eyes betraying her thoughts. 

“Is something else bothering you?”

Rost denied it and she pressed him further about the Proving and what happens afterwards. He cut her off gruffly and sent her on her way. She rode the zipline down to the valley below and he turned back to the cabin to make his preparations. 

As the sun started to reach its afternoon point, he headed towards the campsite near the Southern Gate. He rested there, inspecting his weapons and before long the closely approaching evening brought Aloy to his campfire. She had done as he’d asked, as well as helped Odd Grata. 

The sounds of the tribe’s Braves fighting off machines pierced the silence near the fire and Aloy impatiently asked after the lesson he intended to teach her. Rost held firm and soon she was moving on to their earlier topic of what happens after the Proving. 

True to her usual form, Aloy denied the tribe’s laws and stated her intentions to defy them in secret. Rost understood her pain and his heart was heavy at the thought of his adopted daughter working out a plan to see him in secret. 

She was so adamant that it pained him. He knew she would never let it go, there was no way to move on from someone who raised you.

She soon chose to rest until night fell and Rost watched the embers of the fire as the wood he’d placed there burned down. In his head he was angry Aloy was already planning to break the tribe’s sacred laws, but in his heart - just as he’d placated her fears for years - he didn’t want to let her go. 

Watching as she slept just feet from him, he was drawn to the face he knew as well as his own. His loyalty to a tribe that had cast him out after he’d taken an oath to kill those… monsters, it seemed futile at times. Especially so in the face of losing his baby girl. 

His Aloy... 

He had declared after the Matriarchs had given her to him, that she could never replace his daughter Alana. But she had stubbornly worked her way into his heart - passed all of the walls, the codes he’d lived by. 

He loved her as his own.

Night had fallen and he knew it was time to finish his last lesson for Aloy, maybe the last thing he had to impart to her before he was sure she was as prepared as she could be for the life ahead of her. He hesitated before kneeling next to her and gently shaking her awake. He brushed a stray hair off her head as she blinked her eyes free of her slumber. She smiled slightly before stretching and gathering her gear.

As they waited for the Braves to open the gates he saw her unsure glances in his direction, and he shrugged his shoulders at the delay. 

He led her along the path of destruction before the Sawtooth showed itself. The monstrous machine stretching its forelegs and sinking its metal claws in the dirt. He knew that despite the obvious fear on her face, Aloy could defeat the machine, but he was unsure if she’d understand why he’d brought her out here. As the machine began its patrol route, he watched Aloy drop into the bushes and set her tripwires. All he could do was wait. 

Unfortunately he was right about her lack of understanding, and a small sense of disappointment crept into his heart that she was still selfish in some ways and he couldn’t impart the same loyalty to the tribe he had. When he’d clapped his hand on her shoulder and told her she may be the only one strong enough to stand up for the tribe, he’d watched her expression shift from one of embarrassment to one of alarm. 

As they made their way back into the Embrace and reached their spot near the campfire, neither of them spoke to the other. And when the sun had completely risen, they went their separate ways, as Rost forbid Aloy from following him, instead instructing her to meet him outside of Mother’s Heart. 

He had lied only a little when he’d said he wasn’t going back to the cabin. He was there now, standing by the dead fire, the door open to let in enough light to see the interior room. This cabin had been his home for more than 20 years now, and the walls had watched as he’d raised an abandoned little girl into an ambitious young woman. All of the tears, laughter, and memories within this humble little home he’d built…

In the corner near Aloy’s bed were the little machine carvings he’d made for her when she was a toddler. He picked up the little Watcher and decided to pocket it… to at least have something from this old place to keep him company for the journey ahead. 

He cleaned out the healing supplies and finished tying up his knapsack before heading out the door and bidding the place goodbye. When he walked out the front gate he stood there for a moment and remembered the early days, when he’d just begun training Aloy.

**_“Rost, look I hit the bullseye!” Her small hands punched the air in triumph, holding her training bow up above her head. Rost confirmed that yes, she had finally hit her target after months of practicing._ **

**_“Good. Now do it 100 times more,” he instructed. Aloy had huffed loudly and groaned, falling on her back dramatically in the grass. He’d chuckled and reset the target for her._ **

**_She may have fought him tooth and nail along the way, but ‘survival equals perfection’._ **

He found that tears were streaming down his weathered face, the memories were still there and he found the memories of his old life in Mother’s Vigil had almost faded away to nothing. He felt like he was betraying his family, but they were gone. Aloy was still here and he still had one more chance to say goodbye to her. 

He patted the pouch he knew Alana’s necklace was in and headed off towards Mother’s Heart. He laid his knapsack along the route and chose a rock to sit and wait on before the gate to the village. The festivities had already begun and he had to admit he was only slightly jealous of the revelry. It’d been so long since he’d entered those gates and participated in the Proving festival. 

He took the tiny carved Watcher out of his pocket and ran his fingers across the back. These machines had been the first ones he’d taught Aloy to kill, and he remembered how she’d first thought they were harmless. Until she’d taken a particularly hard hit from one during a fight. 

The soft footsteps approaching him from down the dirt path brought him out of his thoughts and just as he’d suspected, Aloy was there at last. 

He greeted her and she asked him about the village and whether they’d allow her, an Outcast, to enter. Rost assured her the tribe would honor her right to the Proving, and he was sure High Matriarch Teersa had been eagerly awaiting this day. 

“Any final lessons before I head in?” she asked, her hazel eyes searching his face.

He assured her, “No, you’ve learned everything the wilds have to teach.”

“It was you who taught me, not the wilds,” she said, stepping forward and trying to meet his eyes. His heart seized a little in his chest at her honesty and he had to look away to keep his composure. He knew if he stood here much longer, he’d regret his decision to leave. 

Aloy was more composed than he was, and asked, “I’m ready to do this, see you back home in a few days?” She turned back towards him from her place up the path, so close to her destiny and answers she’d craved for 13 years or more.

This was it, he would have to break his decision to her gently, “You will not find me there, Aloy,” he reached into his pouch and held Alana’s necklace in his hand, before holding it out to her, “Here, take this to… remember.” 

_Remember him and how much he loved her._

_Their life together._

_The time he’d spent training her and molding her into the woman she was today._

She took the necklace, confusion flashing across her face. She didn’t understand.

“Why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?” She looked down at the necklace in her hand before he turned away from her finally, unable to look at her any longer, 

“No…. No,” her voice wavered. She still fought him tooth and nail. He knew she wouldn’t let go of him that easily. He turned back to her, seeing the beginning of tears in her hazel eyes.

“You should be with the tribe. And I will always be an outcast-“

Again she tried to reason with him, he could see her working the problem, trying to stop him from leaving her to an uncertain future, “But I told you, I have that figured out! I’ll come to you in secret. I’ll be the one breaking the law, not you! You don’t even have to talk to me!”

Rost was slowly growing angry and frustrated that she still hadn’t learned the final lesson, “This…attachment to me will only hold you back, it’s my wish that you embrace the tribe. You’ve lived in isolation long enough.” 

He could see the hurt plainly in her face, “Not until now I didn’t…” It finally dawned on him that she thought he was abandoning her as he’d always promised he’d never do. 

“For your sake I must go where you will never find me... this is goodbye.” He felt the twisting knife in his gut. He had wanted this goodbye to be short, so the two of them could weather it and move on with their lives. She was making this more difficult than it needed to be. In his heart he knew he felt the same way as her, unable to let go. He had promised her so many times it would never come to this.

But it was easier to let go when you’d done it before. 

He had turned his back on her again, it was for her own good, he reasoned with himself. She needed to grow and fulfill whatever destiny All-Mother had in store for her. She couldn’t do that by coming back to him, to her old life as an Outcast. 

Her voice broke the tense silence between the two, “No, it’s not. You taught me how to track. Wherever you go, I can follow.” 

Rost had turned back to look at her and found that familiar spark in her eyes, she was set on doing things her way, “Not this time,” he challenged her. 

“This time…and every time,” she vowed to him, stepping towards him, clutching his daughter’s necklace -

 

_His daughter._

 

There she stood with fire in her eyes the same color as her untamed hair. A small pleading look on her face as she reached out for his arm. He’d turned from her to escape - to run - to leave behind another family and end out his days alone, hunting the lands outside of the Nora tribe’s reach. 

“I’ll be wearing this when I find you.” 

Her small declaration was too much for him. She had to understand what she was saying…she had to know what that meant as she held almost two decades of his life in her hands and in his heart. He swallowed the emotion and said only what he could,

“May All-Mother bless you, Aloy.” 

He had to go before he regretted his decision any more, he barely heard her reply. Her voice in a hushed broken whisper. 

Rost turned away for the final time and headed down the path towards the Main Embrace Gate. He grabbed his knapsack and decided to wait until morning to leave, settling for a makeshift camp. 

When he was out of sight of the watchtowers, he made a fire and waited until the sun went down. In the distance he could faintly hear the drums of the festival and he looked that way just as the first ceremonial lantern rose from the Matriarch’s Blessing ritual. Of the small number of aspirants that year, he knew Aloy’s lantern was among the group. 

Rost picked one and prayed his own prayer for the amazing young woman he knew was standing there in the village, closer than ever before to her life-long goal of finding her mother. 

He hoped she would achieve her goal. 

As he lay on the ground near the fire, his head propped on his knapsack he prayed to All-Mother in the Sacred lands one last time before falling asleep.

——

When the sun rose, he watched as elegantly-dressed Carja outlanders and their Oseram warrior companions left through the main gate and listened to their gossip about the Proving. A few of the Braves talked about the year’s group of aspiring warriors already climbing the mountain to the Proving grounds. The tall Oseram man with a hammer mentioned a fire-haired huntress and Rost instantly knew of whom he spoke. His bit the inside of his cheek. 

Deciding against all good judgement, Rost turned and ran towards where the Proving was sure to be underway. He had to make sure Aloy won, before he left the Sacred Lands. He couldn’t explain it. This decision to turn back and not let go. 

He couldn’t be seen by the tribe or by Aloy, so he took an old path towards the Proving grounds, along the mountain.

As he climbed the signs of many recent travelers showed in the new snow, along with cart tracks. He pulled his spear from his back and quietly followed the tracks.

Only Nora Braves knew this trail and they didn’t have many reasons to trek along this way, especially with a cart. He could faintly hear the sound of feet crunching through the snow ahead of him, getting closer to the final stage of the Proving. The altar where the contestants would place their trophies to finish their trial and be declared Braves. 

As he turned the corner he saw a small group of men, dressed in red and black clothing, a strange circle and line design on their cloaks. The colors of their garb and the design of their hair and clothing gave them away.

 _Carja? Out this way?_

He’d seen the outlanders leave, Carja and Oseram. But none of them had sported this odd symbol. Maybe the Carja had cause to raid the Nora again, now that the Oseram had sided with them. 

It mattered little to Rost. He stepped out into the clearing and announced himself as the outsiders turned and upon recognizing him, raised their weapons to attack.

He killed them before they could land a hit on him. 

As he inspected the bodies he noticed the same triangular Focus device on their heads that Aloy wore, and he reached to take one off a nearby corpse, but the sound of cracking gunfire drew his attention back to the Proving grounds.

_Aloy._

He ran as fast as he could. Flashes of the raid on Mother’s Vigil threatening to take his mind off his current task. He swallowed them down, thinking only of his little girl.

Rost heard the sounds of fighting ahead of him as he ran the path towards the final altar grounds. People screaming and orders being barked out by a male voice. Then suddenly, all was silent… 

_No!_

He rounded the corner just as a huge, imposing man grabbed his daughter, his Aloy, by the throat and raised her off the ground, dangling her near the cliff-face, a curved knife to the side of her neck.

**_Rost! ROST!_ **

**_The Braves in the War Party all screamed and some cried aloud. The sounds of misery of the Nora tribesman filled the night air._ **

**_Just a few strides away from where the Braves stood at the Sacred Lands’ border, kneeled the captured Nora. The outlanders had started to slit the throats of the captives methodically._ **

**_His little girl was there among those captives._ **

**_She looked at him, screaming, “Papa!”_ **

**_Before the man they had labeled as the Twelve’s leader, took his knife and drew it across the little girl’s throat._ **

**_Rost’s vision blurred and kneeling there was Aloy, her wild red hair tied back by a blue bandana, looking just like the day she’d gained the scar over her right eye and started her journey to where she was now._ **

The hazel eyes full of absolute fear were there in front of him still, with a very real knife being pressed against her throat above where the Carjan man had her pinned. He could see blood dripping down the man’s fingers where they gripped Aloy’s throat. 

He loosed an arrow with his next breath, hitting the man in the back of his shoulder and making him release the struggling young woman. The huge Carjan turned to face Rost, his steel grey eyes full of anger and death. 

Rost pulled his spear and ran to fight the man he assumed was the commander of all the dead invaders littered around the Proving grounds. Rost deduced by Aloy being the only survivor she was the one who slayed the invaders. The imposing commander was strong and Rost fought with everything he had. He could hear Aloy gasping for breath and caught a glimpse of the red blood leaking between her fingers as she held them to her throat, struggling against the snow to get up and help him. He shot a warning look her way, desperately, 

_Stay down please!_

He sustained a few blows as he gave them before he was struggling under the steely-eyed Carja commander’s knife. The same knife he’d cut Aloy with; Rost could see her blood staining the curved blade as it bore down on him.

Rost knew he couldn’t hold on much longer against the man’s weight and strength. 

He could feel his arms giving way as he gripped the spear, old wounds beginning to ache.

_Please forgive me, Aloy._

He couldn’t react quickly enough as the man broke his spear and pierced his gut with the blade.

The air left him suddenly as he sunk to his knees, his hand going to the wound. He could feel the warm blood through his clothes and he looked over to where Aloy lay motionless on the ground.

Breathe, please breathe. He watched her and could see her move slightly. The commander snorted and left Rost to bleed out as he clutched his side.

Rost ignored the Carja as they lit what he assumed were barrels of Blaze and ran, the man who’d destroyed the Proving and slit his daughter’s throat leaving with them.

Rost dragged himself along the snow-covered ground to where Aloy was lying face down near the edge of the cliff. 

He prayed to All-Mother with everything he had as he turned her into his arms, the pain in his gut threatening to take his last breath.

Aloy’s eyes were slightly open as he said her name, and she was still breathing, but the wound on her neck was severe and he knew she only had one chance to get out of this alive. 

He looked at her face, memorizing every detail he knew so well, hoping that All-Mother was kinder than the Nora made her out to be - that Outcasts had an after-life where he could see his mate and Alana once more. Where someday he could see his Aloy again... 

_Survive._

He spoke his last words to the young woman he loved with his whole heart and pushed her away from him, over the cliff-face towards the layers of snow built up below. 

Rost knew the Blaze barrels behind him would blow any second, but he watched as Aloy looked up at him as she fell, 

The last time they would see each other.

The last time he would see her.

The last -


	8. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Final chapter from Aloy's POV. A satisfying ending to an emotional story.**

**Age 20: Epilogue**

Rost’s daughter had been named Alana… 

She couldn’t believe he’d kept so much from her. But she didn’t blame him, hearing Teersa tell the story had opened up the wounds in her heart. She’d swallowed down the bubbling grief the moment Teersa had declared her a Seeker, not admitting how badly the Proving had affected her, how badly Rost’s death had affected her. 

As she returned down the path towards the gates from Mother’s Heart towards the Embrace, her heart felt heavier with each step. By the time she made it to the gates, she was running, the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. She ran towards the rise Odd Grata frequented, trying not to see the bodies strewn along the path or the smoldering remains of the trees in the Embrace. 

Her exhaustion got the better of her and she took the long path up the rise, clutching her sides and struggling to hold back her tears.

As she reached the top, she succumbed to her exhaustion, falling to her knees near the fire.  
The tears clouding her vision flowed freely now as she couldn’t contain her sobs any longer. 

She hadn’t realized the necklace had meant so much to Rost. They hadn’t spoken about their relationship as much as they should and now that he was… gone, she regretted it more than ever. 

Aloy had visited his grave often, leaving some small trinkets that reminded her of home on the flat rock covering the spot. She’d spoken there about her adventures, knowing deep down it was silly to believe he could hear her, but doing it just the same. His words to her before the Proving echoed in her mind, ‘This attachment to me will only hold you back.’ The journey back to the Sacred Land may have taken precious time away from her quest, but every time she saw the gates to her childhood home it was like instantly releasing the weight from her shoulders. 

The night breeze blew over the rise, disturbing the ashes from the Embrace below and those left from the logs near her, placed by the last visitor. She was grateful the rise had been untouched in the Eclipse’s invasion of the Sacred Land, it provided her a place to stay the night alone before she had to start the journey back to Meridian in the morning in preparation for the fight with HADES and Helis’ Eclipse. 

Wiping the fresh tears from her face, she reached for a sparker and started the fire, watching as the sparks turned into a blaze. The images of the Embrace on fire as she’d ridden her Strider through the main gate suddenly filled her mind’s eye and she had to shake them away before she began crying again. The smoke still rose from the trees burned in the attack, defiling the night air. 

She had come up here to escape the Nora’s prying eyes after she’d fought the first Corrupter and began her journey as a Seeker. She’d been crying then as well, the sight of Rost’s fresh grave near their home had almost been too much for her following the Proving massacre and the revelation that she’d been born in the Sacred Mountain. 

She inhaled suddenly, the weight of his necklace and last gift to her heavy around her neck. She pulled on the worn leather cord, slipping it out from under her clothes and over her head. The bone pendant was slightly dirty with her own sweat and dirt from the fighting she’d done to get to the Sacred Mountain. Turning the beads between her fingers, she reached for her blue scarf and used it to clean the necklace off, a soft smile barely hinted on her lips.

When he’d given it to her, she’d been panicking at the thought of never seeing him again and had pleaded with him. The irony of her resolve to find him after the proving, while wearing a necklace that belonged to his dead daughter was not lost to her now. In fact, it made his death all the more painful. She understood now the anguished look he’d given her when she’d held the necklace in her fist and declared her intentions to follow him anywhere. 

She barely remembered him declaring that she was his daughter once, but had brushed it off as a dream so many times. But seeing the familiar lines of the necklace and his handiwork solidified her grief. He had been the only family she’d ever known and his goodbye had been like a blade piercing her heart, especially now that her last memories of him were fragments as she’d almost bled out on the Proving grounds. Being lifted into his strong, familiar arms and watching the lines of his face deepen as he spoke her name before she was falling…

She closed her eyes tightly, the grief and the memory were too much for her to bear alone on the bare rocks, the smoke of her makeshift campfire drifting in front of her on the breeze. 

She removed the pieces of her shield-weaver armor and stacked them neatly near her feet, before unrolling a blanket the remaining tribe members had given her, along with some supplies for her journey.

As she lay out under the stars, the constellations as recognizable to her as the paths in the valley below, her earlier words at Rost’s grave echoed through her head.

_There’s nothing to stop me from entering the mountain and… going inside, but I haven’t … not yet. I don’t know why. I guess… I needed to see you first- before I see the machine._

_Sylens is right, there’s no one waiting for me in there._

_It’ll be a what, not a who, but at least I’ll know-_

_I miss you._

It had been like an invisible string, the pull that had forced her feet in the direction of their home after she’d defeated the corrupted Thunderjaw and spoken with Sona and Varl. The Braves she’d accompanied to the very gates of the Sacred Mountain had asked where she was going, but she’d ignored them, too far gone to formulate an explanation. 

The path to her former home was littered with corpses, both human and corrupted machine. It had been like she was walking in a dream with the smell of smoke and death permeating her exhausted mind. When she’d finally kneeled there at the gravesite, she had felt there was no way to express everything she was feeling and she had spoken her peace there to the stones, knowing it may be some time before she could return.

If she ever returned at all.

In Eleuthia-9, before she had approached the FZ ectogenic chamber – or whatever her Focus had labeled it - she briefly saw Rost’s face and imagined him there with her. He would never have understood the things she’d discovered about the Old Ones, but she hoped he would have assured her that even without a mother, she was still human. 

Scrolling through the data points she’d collected in the place she’d been born, with their numbers and designations for her birth, she felt more machine than anything. 

GAIA had ordered her birth as a last-ditch effort to prevent the worldwide terraforming system from death-spiraling into complete chaos. It had been overwhelming and she snorted at her previous dramatic exclamation to Sylen’s about being an instrument. 

Rost had always seen her for her, as a human, with all of her flaws and her quirks. 

He’d nursed her back to health and bandaged her wounds, fed her, bathed her, and clothed her. He was everything for her for 19 years of her life. He’d never treated her like a machine, never pushed her past her limits, without regard for her life, like Sylens had. They’d fought, sure, never agreeing on matters of tribal law, but he always allowed her to have her own mind. 

When she’d shunned his help and disobeyed his teachings, he’d never struck her, always gently leading her with disappointed words and looks. 

She laid in the firelight now, looking up at the night sky she’d shared with him, the tears flowing from the sides of her eyes towards her bedroll. The wound on her neck Helis had given her before he’d killed Rost stung, as it sometimes did when she was thinking about Rost. 

She reached up and brushed her fingers against it, pressing the phantom pain away as she clutched Rost’s necklace in her other hand. 

So many people she’d met along her journey outside of the Sacred Lands had lost someone: Erend, Avad, Elida, the Banuk Kimik, the Utaru Rea, Brageld the Oseram, Varl and Sona… 

It seemed her job description should change from Seeker to Counselor, as she more often than not helped others find their peace after they’d lost a loved one.

But here in the dark, laying alone by the fire like she’d done every night since she’d left the Sacred Lands, no one was there to help her find that peace for herself. She sobbed quietly into the folded blanket she used as a pillow as she turned over on her side, sleep threatening to take her over. She pulled another blanket over her legs and finally let sleep come.  
\---  
When she woke to the light cresting over the mountains surrounding the Sacred Lands, she pushed the blankets off her shoulders and sat up, stretching. 

Blankets?

She remembered having one extra to cover herself, but no more than that. She wiped her face before she was aware of another person sitting by the fire. Across from her, cleaning a rabbit while one roasted over the newly stoked fire, was Odd Grata. Aloy inspected the blanket and recognized it as one from Rost’s home- her home. 

Grata turned the rabbit on the spit as Aloy folded her blankets up and tied the supplies up for easy travel. The smell of the rabbit caused the young woman’s stomach to growl loudly and she stopped mid-work and shoot an embarrassed look at the older Outcast. Grata didn’t meet her gaze and smirked slightly, “All-Mother provides in a certain Seeker’s absence.” 

Aloy could feel her face heat up, she’d sneakily left kills for Grata whenever she visited Rost’s grave and her childhood home. It seems Grata knew and was showing her some sort of gratitude. 

It had never occurred to Aloy that Odd Grata had essentially been witness to her entire life up until she’d left the Sacred Lands. Rost had always hunted for the older outcast and provided herbs and berries for her during the colder months, even offering shelter during blizzards. Aloy had always helped of course, and when asked hunted for Grata in Rost’s stead. She had always found it rude that no matter how Rost and Aloy had helped, Grata never thanked them directly. 

And yet, when Aloy had paid her a visit after the Proving before she left, Grata had spoken of the joys and hopes of watching All Mother’s children grow. And Aloy understood. 

As the younger woman pulled on the last piece of her armor, Grata took the second rabbit off the spit and held out a bowl of berries, roots, and rabbit meat. Aloy looked up from the bowl to where Grata met her eyes. It was the first time she had been directly acknowledged by the older woman, and the weathered face held an unspeakable emotion. 

Aloy took the food and thanked Grata out loud before the morning stillness was broken by the sounds of singing. Down in the valley a large procession of the surviving Nora picked up the bodies, both machine and Nora and cleaned up the paths along the Sacred Lands. Some of them sang a song Aloy did not recognize and she ate solemnly as Grata did the same. 

The older outcast broke the silence between them before addressing her, 

“Aloy, All Mother knew you’d return to us,” Grata’s voice wavered in a way the Seeker had never heard before in all her years of visiting her. “You saved the Nora.”

Aloy set the bowl down next to her and played with the end of her spear, twisting the Corrupter module in her hands, unable to meet the old woman’s gaze. 

“Grata…” she started, her voice weaker than she wished it to be, “I- I just did what I had to…”

She stopped fiddling with her spear at the next words,

“Rost would be proud of you.”

She couldn’t-

Aloy dropped her spear then and brought her hands to her face, sobbing uncontrollably. The grief was still so fresh and she’d held it in for so long. She poured her heartache out there on the rise, the smell of the burning Embrace still faint in the morning breeze. Aloy couldn’t stop the tears as she remembered her adopted father’s face. Remembered his smell and his voice, the feeling of his hands on her shoulders when he taught her something new. 

The wound she’d carried with her across the Sundom and all throughout the lands beyond the Embrace bled anew. Even as the tribe that had shunned her at birth sang their mourning songs in the valley below. 

Weathered hands gripped her shoulders and Aloy found herself being pulled into Grata’s arms as the outcast gently shushed her, whispering comforting words into the curtain of her tangled red hair. 

Aloy gripped Grata’s worn clothes and sobbed into her shoulder. This woman who had never even directly acknowledged her fellow outcasts allowed the Seeker to cry into her shoulder as she ran a comforting hand over her back. “It’s ok girl, let it out.”

Aloy struggled to regain her composure, she had to get to Meridian to end the threat to the world. But it had been so long since someone had just… held her… that she struggled against her duty to the world and the grief threatening to consume her. 

Grata in her wisdom, pulled away first and ran a gnarled hand over Aloy’s flushed cheeks, wiping away the tears as Aloy sniffed. 

“There you go, you’ll be alright…” Aloy laughed between sniffs and reached up to her own face to wipe away the evidence of her grief. 

“Thank you, Grata…” she said humbly, bowing her head in reverence, “I-I needed that.”

The older woman smiled widely and patted Aloy’s shoulder lightly, before gathering her things and her precious prayer beads before pressing a kiss to Aloy’s hand after reaching for it. 

The outcast turned away then and began her journey down into the valley towards her home. Aloy knew from earlier that the area around Rost’s cabin was untouched by the Eclipse invaders and their corrupted machines. 

As she reached the broken gates of the Embrace, carrying her supplies until she could find a Strider to override, she saw a small group of Braves standing there. 

As she got closer, she could see it was Varl, Teb, and a few of the Braves she’d saved in Mother’s Cradle the day before. Varl’s injuries stood out against his skin, the bruises just beginning to turn colors and his cuts sealed over with medicinal paste. Teb leaned on a makeshift crutch, his wounds bandaged and silently she’s thankful they’re both standing. 

Varl speaks first, “Aloy!”

She raises her spear in greeting, before she’s close enough to speak normally. Varl reaches out and clasps her arm. The wounds on his face in stark contrast with his smile. Teb shoots her a weak grin as well and the other Braves bow before she has time to stop them. 

“We came to see you off,” Teb explains. 

“And to tell you we’ll be there in Meridian as soon as we can,” Varl finishes, shifting his weight to his other leg. 

Aloy nods appreciatively and racks her spear into the carrier on her back. 

“Well…” she starts, then clears her throat.

“You have to go,” Teb finishes for her. She nods, feeling tears prickling in the backs of her eyes. 

“Yeah.”

Varl hesitates for a bit before stepping forward and pulling her into an awkward hug. Her breath catches and Teb and the other Braves shoot her a surprised look over Varl’s shoulder. She reaches up and pats the older boy’s back lightly, inhaling the smell of his tunic and cloak. When he lets go he keeps a hand on her shoulder before Teb steps forward with a small package in his hand. 

“A repair kit, for your armor,” he explains and she thanks him quietly. 

The farewell group parts and she looks around them appreciative of the gesture and help before stepping around the rubble of the main gates into the lands beyond the Embrace once more.

As she crosses the bridge, she chances one last look.

 _In case it ends badly with HADES_ , she argues with herself, and finds the farewell group waving to her.

She swears that she sees Rost among them, the familiar lines of his beard and his warpaint crinkling with his smile. But when she blinks he’s gone…

Clutching the bone pendant of Rost’s necklace in her free hand, she turns towards her destiny.


End file.
